How to Save a Life
by Koinaka
Summary: Kurt will do anything to save his father-even if it means selling his soul.
1. Prologue

Kurt did not believe in God.

He did not.

However, ever since his father's heart attack, he couldn't help but wonder if there _was _some higher power out there. Maybe not God, per se, but _something_. Something that could save his father. He had tried everything he could think of. The doctors had tried everything they could think of. But his father still would not wake up.

Kurt sat by his father's beside day after day, week after week, until almost a month had gone by with absolutely no change to his father's condition.

At night, Kurt would scour the internet looking for anything he thought would work_—_experimental treatments, holistic treatments, anything. He searched through site after site until he had gone through everything that was even vaguely reputable. Then, he scoured the internet for rumors; whispers of things that he thought might have the slightest chance of working.

He had almost given up hope altogether when he found it. He didn't think much of it at first—what sane person would?—but then he stumbled across a series of posts on a message board that opened his eyes to something he hadn't even thought to consider before, something that even a month ago he would have not thought possible.

Almost unbidden, the lyrics of an old blues singer his father used to listen to came to his head.

_I went to the crossroad  
Fell down on my knees  
I went to the crossroad  
Fell down on my knees_

Asked the Lord above  
"Have mercy now, save poor Bob if you please."

Kurt's heartbeat thundered in his ears as he tried to remember the singer's name. Something like Robert Jackson, maybe, or Johnson, he thought, but he couldn't remember.

Chewing on his lower lip, Kurt moved his mouse cursor to Google's search engine box and typed in the name _Robert Jackson _first. He skimmed through the results briefly before erasing _Jackson _and typing _Johnson _instead.

He sucked in a harsh breath as he read through the Wikipedia entry dedicated to the late blues singer.

_Robert Johnson was said to believe that he had sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads_ _in order to create the blues that he would later be famous for. _

Sold his soul.

_Sold his soul_.

Kurt would do anything to save his father—_anything_—but this seemed almost too easy. What use was a soul to a boy who did not even believe in God? To a boy who did not believe in an afterlife at all?

The answer to that question was easy as well: he had no use for his soul, but for his father… Kurt could not even contemplate a life without him, a world where he did not exist.

Without even hesitating, Kurt hit the back button on his browser and typed something else into the search engine.

_crossroads in Lima, Ohio_

His breath caught at the very first entry listed.

There was a church built on the only crossroads in town. While that may have been nothing but a coincidence, he couldn't help but think that it was more than that. The Christian church was known for layering their sacred sites over those of their pagan predecessors.

He copied down the address of the crossroads carefully before shutting the lid of his laptop.

He would save his father—no matter what the cost.


	2. Chapter 1

So, I hadn't planned on this being very long, but then I got hit with some inspiration, so I think I can definitely develop it into something that incorporates a lot more of the Supernatural world then I originally intended. If, of course, people are interested!

Happy finale night everyone!

How to Save a Life

By: Koinaka

_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I know how to save a life  
How to save a life  
How to save a life _  
-How to Save a Life, The Fray

Chapter One

Kurt ignored the way his skin crawled the closer he got to the tiny store and continued walking. He had come this far, and there was no way he was turning around—not when he was this close.

Over the last week, Kurt had tried a number of different so-called "occult" stores, but none of them had carried the one item he still needed to summon the demon: bones of a black cat. The graveyard dirt had been reasonably easy to find. It wasn't like he was afraid of going to a cemetery. Why would he be? He went once a week or so to visit his mom's grave, after all.

The bones, on the other hand, hadn't been quite so easy to find. Until now.

That morning Kurt had bypassed McKinley High, deciding instead to drive to Cincinnati and go to another yet another occult store. He normally wasn't one to skip school, but it wasn't like his father was around to notice, anyway, and he was tired of the pitying looks that everyone at school, except for Coach Sylvester, of course, gave him. More than that, he was tired of the well wishes and the _prayers _from his friends. None of it helped—none of it did anything!—and he was done, absolutely done, with sitting back and doing nothing.

So, he went to Cincinnati in the hopes that this store would be The One—the one that would have the bones of a black cat. Only he hadn't counted on getting turned lost. It turned out to be a good thing; however, because it was while he was wandering around that he noticed this particular store.

The moment he saw it, he knew that it was different than the others. With the others, he'd never felt anything. But, with this one, he felt so wrong, so _dirty_, the closer he got to it. That was how he knew there had to be something to it, something more than the New Age garbage he had encountered over and over again.

By the time he made it to the front stoop, however, he was ready to give up and go home. If the air outside the store felt that slimy, he couldn't imagine what it would feel like inside.

He didn't turn back though. Instead, he just took a deep breath and pushed the glass door open.

The air inside the store was stagnant and putrid. Maybe it was the stacks of musty books or the rows of jars filled with unidentifiable objects, but Kurt didn't think so. He thought it smelled like what death would smell like, if it had a scent.

His eyes darted around the shop, taking in the grotesque sights. It was almost like something out of a horror movie, but there was something so genuine about the place, so absolutely terrifying, that he knew that this place would have what he looked for. Every bone in his body, every survival instinct ingrained in him, told him to turn around and go. The only reason he didn't go straight out the door and back to his car was because he was doing this for his father. He repeated that phrase—_for my father_—over and over again like a mantra in his head.

"Not too late, you know," said a voice with a thick Southern accent from behind a stack of books, interrupting his mantra.

Kurt's brow furrowed in confusion. _What? _

"To turn back," the voice continued. "Not too late. In fact, I suggest you do. Innocent little thing like you ain't got no business meddlin' around with demons. Dangerous business, demons."

Kurt stared, wide-eyed, as the tiniest little old woman he had ever seen emerged from behind the books. Both her hair and her skin was stark white. Her eyes, on the other hand, were decidedly odd. They were dark blue but covered in a film and stared, unseeing, at Kurt.

When he still didn't speak, she walked away, weaving through the cluttered store with practiced ease.

"I suppose this is what you're lookin' for?" she asked, picking out a jar seemingly at random and tossing it to Kurt who nearly dropped it. Inside the jar contained bones, of a black cat, he supposed.

"Ah, _yes_, how much—" he began to ask but she cut him off.

"How much indeed?" she queried, her wrinkled and pinched face going thoughtful. "Quite a bit more than you've bargained for, I'd reckon. Not my place to judge, though. No use in it, anyhow. Not when your mind's already made up, and it had to have been for you to even enter the shop." She fixed her unseeing eyes back on him. "No charge."

"But—"

"No charge," she said, firmly, spinning around on her heels and disappearing through a door he hadn't noticed before.

He waited for her to reappear, but when she didn't come back after several minutes, he pulled a stack of bills out of his wallet and peeled off five of the twenty-dollar bills and left them on the counter. It didn't feel right to leave without paying her something, and a hundred dollars seemed like such a small amount for the life of his father. Clutching the jar in his hands, he didn't hesitate for even a moment before leaving the store after setting the bills on the counter.

Once outside, he kept walking until the crawling feeling was gone, until he could take a deep breath and breathe in clean air instead of slimy, stagnant air. By the time he reached his car, the entire incident felt hazy, as if it had been a dream instead of reality. The only indication that it had _not _been a dream was the jar in his hand.

Kurt spent the entire drive back to Lima planning. He wanted to do it as soon as he got back home, but he knew that it would be better to wait for the cover of darkness. Instead he stopped by the hospital to see if there had been any change with his father's condition. After ascertaining that there hadn't been, he kissed him on the cheek and left his room, lingering in the doorway for only a second.

"I'm going to make this right," he promised the comatose man before walking briskly back to the Navigator. He could only hope that it worked. If it did, then perhaps, by this time, tomorrow there would be no need to visit the hospital.

For the rest of the afternoon, Kurt got everything in his house back in order. He hadn't meant to let things go, but between school work, glee, and visiting the hospital, he had scarcely had time for sleep let alone time for taking proper care of the house. So while he waited for sunset, he washed the dishes, vacuumed and dusted every room, made up every bed, absolutely everything he could do to not only keep busy but to get things ready for his father to come home to—all the while listening to Robert Johnson's album. It had taken him nearly an entire afternoon of sifting through carton after carton of his father's records before he found it, but once he found it, he couldn't stop listening to it over and over again.

_I went to the crossroad__  
__Fell down on my knees_  
_I went to the crossroad_  
_Fell down on my knees_

At half-past three, his cell phone began to ring and buzz with text messages. He deleted all of the messages without even reading them and then just turned off his phone. His friends would no doubt be beside themselves, Mercedes especially, but he knew that he couldn't tell them what he was planning because they would try to stop him.

And he definitely couldn't have that. Not when his father's life depended on this.

Finally, when he couldn't stand to wait any longer, he packed the items—the Ziploc baggie filled with graveyard dirt, the jar of bones, and a photograph of him taken over the summer—into a small box, grabbed the small gardening tool he'd purchased for tonight and then drove over to the crossroads. There was a small playground across the church where there were still several children playing.

He sat inside the Navigator and watched the children play. One by one, they left until there was no one at the playground at all. He was beginning to feel a bit antsy, restless. Not able to sit in his truck for another moment, he stuffed the box inside his satchel, and got out. He walked around the playground for a few minutes in an attempt to burn off some of that pent up energy so that when he finally did the ritual, when he finally summoned the demon, he would be calm and collected.

It was on his third go around the playground that it happened. Had it been raining, he might have thought it was lightening; only the sky was clear. One second he was turning the corner at the back of the playground staring at nothing, and the next second, there was a flash of light followed by the appearance of a man in a long trench coat in the parking lot of the church. He closed his eyes against the bright light and when he opened them again, the man was gone.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he spun around once, his eyes darting every which way to make sure that there was no man—strange or otherwise—anywhere to be seen.

There was no one there.

_No one there_.

No one there.

"Get a grip," he muttered to himself. "You're losing it. Completely losing it."

He lowered himself onto a park bench and sighed. Night was quickly falling, casting shadows across the empty playground. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tight. He sat there like that until night had fallen completely, and the only light left was the orangey-glow of the street lights.

Everything was silent, eerily so. Had it always this quiet, or was he imagining things? Like the man in the trench coat. That had to be it because there was no other explanation for it—no rational explanation for it anyway. After taking another look around to make sure he was alone, Kurt stood up, tightening his jacket around him against the chill in the air as he did so.

He walked purposely to the middle of the crossroads. He had never been so thankful for the lack of municipal funds before in his entire life. The roads in this part of Lima were little better than gravel pits which made it a pain to drive on but in a situation like this would save him a lot of time. There was talk every so often of repaving them, but like most things in Lima, it never happened.

Once in the middle of the road, he crouched down and took out the small gardening shovel. He was about to dig a hole large enough to fit the small box in when he heard an odd fluttering noise and saw something out of the corner of his eye.

He stood up and spun around, suddenly, the shovel falling out of his hand and onto the ground in the process.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone there?"

There was no answer.

He took a deep breath. He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. There was no one out there, for God's sake; he'd made sure that no one was out there!

Ignoring his racing heart, Kurt pulled the small box out of his satchel. His hands were trembling so much that he nearly dropped it twice before he was able to place it inside the hole. He covered it up before standing once again.

It was done. Now all he had to do was wait.


	3. Chapter 2

How to Save a Life

By Koinaka

_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I know how to save a life  
How to save a life  
How to save a life _  
-How to Save a Life, The Fray

Chapter Two

One minute passed and then another with no sign of any demon—not that he would know what a demon looked like anyway, but he figured that he would know one when he saw it. After another minute, Kurt let out a heavy sigh.

A hoax.

It had all been a hoax.

There would be no saving his father, at least by supernatural means. He should have known it wasn't real. It stood to reason that if there wasn't a God—and he firmly believed that there wasn't—then there wasn't anything else out there either.

He turned to leave, but when he did, he saw that he was no longer alone. Instead, standing right in front of him, was an older man wearing black from head to toe. If it hadn't been for the smell—was that _sulfur_?—he may thought it was just a man, but there was something about him that seemed alien, otherworldly.

"_Oh_," Kurt breathed out softly. "It worked. You… you're a demon."

The man—_demon_—arched a sculpted brow, and then his eyes flashed black for a moment. Kurt stumbled in his attempt to move further away from the demon.

"So it would seem," the demon said, his tone laced with amusement. His eyes racked down Kurt's body in a way that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. "Now, then, ducky, what can I do for you?"

"You _do _want to make a deal, don't you?" the demon asked again, when he didn't answer right away, but this time he was pressed flush against Kurt's back, his breath tickling his ear. "Anything you want. Whatever your pretty little heart desires. Wealth. _Fame_. All of it can be yours. For a price, of course."

The demon's voice was lilting, melodic. It flowed over Kurt sending a shiver down his spine. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt the demon's hands touch him. He couldn't think properly with the demon so close to him. He felt heavy and sluggish and _so very tired_.

"I—_yes_." He finally managed to say after a moment.

The demon straightened up and moved away, suddenly all business. "Excellent. Now, then, what's your pleasure? Popularity, wealth," he paused, a lecherous smile spreading across his face. "A boy, perhaps?"

Kurt blinked and shook his head in an attempt to dissipate the lingering fog clouding his thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, he saw another flash of bright light out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the light only to see that the man from before—the man with the trench coat—was standing in the church parking lot across the street with an unreadable expression on his face. Only he wasn't quitethe man from before because he had _wings_. As in actual, honest-to-God, wings.

"Wings," Kurt murmured distractedly to himself. The man had _wings_. He couldn't get over it.

"Pardon me?" the demon asked, his head cocked to the side.

"That man over there in the church parking lot has wings. Can't you see them?"

There was no way the demon couldn't see them. The man was directly in front of them, albeit across the street, and the wings weren't exactly small. Not to mention the fact that the man was staring right at them.

The demon's brow was furrowed. "There's no one over…" but he didn't finish his thought. Instead he stared intently at Kurt for several long moments before speaking. "Shall we get on with our business? Unless you've decided against making a deal in which case—"

"No!" Kurt exclaimed finally taking his eyes off of the man. "I do want to make a deal. Please."

"Well, since you asked so sweetly…What is it that you want?"

Kurt was hit with a sudden urge to leave. His skin began to crawl. It was like the little shop but a thousand times worse. He jerked away from the demon who had been moving steadily closer to him.

This was wrong. All of it was _wrong_.

He should leave. He should leave right then. Turn around and walk back to his car.

But he couldn't. If he did, his father would die. Maybe not right away, but that was almost worse. To watch as his father withered away, helpless to anything. Only, he wasn't so helpless, was he? Because there was a demon right in front of him. A demon who would help him. All he had to do was _ask. _

"My father," he blurted out before he could change his mind again. "He's been in a coma for a month. The doctors don't think he'll wake up. Can you save him?"

The demon laughed. "Can I save him? Of course I can. I've done more with less. All for a price, of course."

"Yes—whatever you want—_anything_. Just save him."

The demon cocked his head to the side. "Anything?" he asked.

Kurt's breath hitched in his throat as the demon moved closer to him. The closer the demon came to him, the harder it became for him to breath, the smell of sulfur overpowering nearly everything. "Anything."

The demon's smile was beatific. He caressed Kurt's face with one of his hands, sliding his fingers along the curve of cheekbone and across his lips. Kurt's eyes fluttered shut when he felt the demon's lips ghost over his. Something stirred in him at the contact, and he surged forward, pressing their lips together fully.

Over the years, Kurt had thought a lot about how his first kiss would go. He'd always thought that it would be soft and sweet. In a word: chaste. Just like those kisses he'd seen time and time again in his favorite musicals where the touch of the fingertips was as sexy as it got.

This kiss was nothing like that.

It was harsh and demanding. The demon was brutal in his ministrations—the hand on his hip tight enough to leave bruises, his kiss more teeth than tongue leaving a coopery taste in Kurt's mouth from where he had bitten his bottom lip. None of those things acted as a deterrent for Kurt though. If anything, it was the opposite. It was almost as if Kurt couldn't get enough of him. He returned the demon's kisses hungrily, his body rocking against the demon's as they kissed.

When they finally parted, Kurt expected the demon to step back, but he didn't. Instead he trailed open mouth kisses down Kurt's jaw and across his neck until he reached the juncture where his neck met his shoulder. His lips lingered there for a moment before he bit down hard enough to draw blood.

The pain startled Kurt out of the daze he had been in.

"My father, is he—" he began to ask but the demon cut him off.

"Your father is perfectly fine. I imagine he is awake right now, harassing the nursing staff and what have you. He is also no longer your concern."

It took several seconds for Kurt to process his words. "No longer my concern?" he echoed. "Of course he's my concern. He's my dad, and if he's awake, then I really should be going. I'm sure that he'll be asking for me, and if I don't come, he'll be worried."

He went to leave but the demon's command of "Stop!" froze him in place. It was like he was paralyzed almost because no matter how much he tried, he couldn't take a single step.

"Name's Crowley, by the way," the demon said as he straightened his tie. "I'm afraid we don't have the time for me to ease you into this because we're going to have company very soon, and I would rather not be here out in the open when the Hardy Boys show up."

"Why can't I move?" Kurt's voice was panicked and shrill. "What did you do to me?"

"The question you should be asking is what did you do to yourself? Didn't your daddy warn you about signing a contract without reading over the fine print?"

At Kurt's no doubt confused look, he continued. "I admit it's a bit unorthodox, but I've always been an opportunist, and since you offered yourself to me freely…Well, who am I to turn you down?"

"Myself? But I didn't—"

"Yes—whatever you want—_anything_," Crowley said, his voice a pitch perfect impersonation of Kurt's. "Hello darling."


	4. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry for the late posting! I got really stuck, and only just managed to find my way out! I took some liberties with parts of Supernatural lore, but I hope everyone likes it!

How to Save a Life

By Koinaka

_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I know how to save a life  
How to save a life  
How to save a life _  
-How to Save a Life, The Fray

THEN

At Kurt's no doubt confused look, he continued. "I admit it's a bit unorthodox, but I've always been an opportunist, and since you offered yourself to me freely…Well, who am I to turn you down?"

"Myself? But I didn't—"

"Yes—whatever you want—_anything_," Crowley said, his voice a pitch perfect impersonation of Kurt's. "Hello darling."

NOW:  
Chapter Three

Kurt's eyes widened. "Are you saying that you _own _me now?" he asked in a horrified tone.

Crowley didn't answer him though. Instead he just moved closer and touched one of his fingers to Kurt's forehead. He caught the boy as he crumpled to the ground, cradling him in his arms. "Tetchy little thing," he muttered as he took first one step and then another before disappearing into the shadows.

When Kurt woke up tucked into bed, he thought that perhaps it had all been a dream—a strangely realistic dream but a dream nonetheless. That idea was proven false the moment he realized that not only was the room he was in _definitely _not his own, but that there was someone sitting in the chair next to him.

It was the demon.

Crowley.

Kurt let out a strangled scream and scrambled away from the demon, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

"_You!_" he said, his tone accusatory. "I don't want you near me."

"Now, now," Crowley said. "Is that any way to treat the man—well, so to speak—who saved your father's life?"

Kurt slumped against the headboard of the bed at the mention of his father.

"Well, then, let's get this over with, shall we? You have questions, I assume, and as your luck would have it, I have a limited amount of answers."

Kurt studied the demon across from him for a long moment before speaking. "My father—before you said that he was awake. Is he really?"

Crowley sighed and shook his head. "Your faith in my abilities is astounding. Like I said before, he's awake and currently sitting with your step-mommy—Carole, was it?—harassing the nursing staff as we speak. Not a very good patient, your father."

He closed his eyes in relief. His dad was alive. Whatever came next, whatever torments the demon may put him through, none of it would matter. All that mattered was that his dad was alive.

"And what does this—your _ownership_—entail?" Kurt tried to keep the disgust out of his voice, but he couldn't.

"Whatever I want as per your own stipulations," the demon gave him a pointed look before sweeping his eyes down the length of Kurt's body. "And oh, the things I want."

Kurt flushed underneath the intensity of Crowley's gaze, from the tips of his ears downward. Surely he didn't mean…_that_, did he? He flashed back to the kiss they had shared—to the way he felt when the demon touched him, kissed him, _bite _him. He crossed his arms over his chest. That was definitely not happening again.

"No need to look so scandalized. I'm not talking about your body, though I could certainly have that if I wanted it. We'll talk terms at a later date, but for now, I have a question for you. You said before, back at the crossroads, that you saw a man with wings. What did he look like?"

He shrugged. "He had wings."

"Something I don't already know, ducky. Don't scrimp on the details. Your daddy may not like the results if you do…"

Kurt's eyes widened. "He looked like a regular man," he said quickly. "He was wearing some type of business suit with a trench coat over it. He had brown hair. I can't be sure of anything else. It was dark, and he wasn't exactly close to me. I wasn't even sure I saw him—or his wings—at first."

"And his wings? What did they look like?"

"Like big, white, feathery wings."

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat and leaned closer. "Now, this is the one-million dollar question. When you saw the wings, did you see only the outline or the whole shebang?"

It took Kurt a moment to answer because he wasn't sure. When he had first seen the man, he hadn't had wings at all. It had only been later that he'd seen the wings. He was fairly certain that it was more than a simple outline. With a tremulous voice, he said so. "The whole shebang."

Kurt didn't know what it meant, but he knew that Crowley looked pleased. Far too pleased for it to be anything good. He leaned over and placed a hand on Kurt's arm. Before Kurt had time to react, he found himself—and Crowley—in an entirely different room. It looked like the inside of a security center with wall-to-wall televisions monitoring the comings and goings of Crowley's home.

"Is the man you see there the same one you saw before at the crossroads?" Crowley asked, tapping the monitor in the far corner, the one that overlooked the exterior of the house.

Kurt looked the screen for a moment. "Yes," he said finally.

Crowley's smile was wide and more than a little disconcerting. "Well, well, what have we here? One of the soldiers of heaven is _way _out of bounds. Whatever shall I do with you, little angel?"

He turned away from the monitor and fixed his gaze onto Kurt. "I think I have just the job for you."

He took a deep breath. "What sort of job?"

"I want you to bring me one of that angel's pretty white feathers."

"You can't be serious," Kurt said, but the look on Crowley's face was nothing if not serious—with a good deal of something else there, some emotion that Kurt couldn't quite differentiate, desire, maybe, longing, definitely, but something more than those.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing," the demon said. "I have a plan."

And then, before Kurt could react, Crowley touched his fingers to his forehead once more, and everything went dark.

When Kurt woke up again—and how was the demon doing that?—there was a blindfold over his eyes, and he was tied to a table of some kind, his body splayed out and so taut that he could not even struggle properly.

Wherever he was, he was not alone. Someone was bustling over to the right of him. He could hear the clinking of some kind of metal. It _almost _sounded like the sharpening of knives but that couldn't be right, could it? A moment later he felt something cold and incredibly sharp against the skin of his belly and knew that that was right.

At the same time as the knife was dragged across his belly—not hard enough to break the skin but only just—he felt lips against his ear.

"Remember," Crowley said in a barely there whisper. "Stick to the plan or…" he trailed off, but there was no need for him to finish the sentence because Kurt knew exactly what he meant although he wasn't sure what Crowley meant by plan. He hadn't told Kurt what the plan was—only that he had one. How could he stick to a plan he knew nothing about?

"Now, this might hurt just a bit," he warned, pressing the knife harder against the soft flesh of Kurt's belly.

Beneath the blindfold, Kurt blinked rapidly and attempted to jerk away from the knife, away from the demon, to no avail.

A high-pitched shriek was ripped from him the first time the knife actually cut into his belly. The demon cut into him over and over again until the pain was almost too much to bear. He screamed until his throat was raw, until he couldn't scream anymore, and then he begged—a litany of pleas falling from his lips.

He was so absorbed by the pain, by the steady carving of the knife, that everything narrowed down until that was all that existed. When the knife finally stopped, clattering loudly to the ground, the pain-filled fog that he had existed in for what felt like years now lifted only slightly. He could hear a struggle taking place near him, and he was vaguely aware of someone touching him—softly and gently undoing his bindings, starting with the blindfold. His eyes fluttered closed against the harsh light. He cried out plaintively when the last of the bindings were undone, and he was lifted into someone's arms.

"You're safe now, I got you," someone—the same someone whose arms he was now in—told him before yelling to another person. "Come on, Sammy, grab the Colt, and let's go. Place is gonna be swarming with mooks soon."

The last thing he heard before darkness pulled him under was the man telling him that everything was going to be okay.


End file.
